


What he needs to hear

by AShortWalkToDelinquency



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Not Exactly a Healthy Relationship, Prostate Massage, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency
Summary: They barely make it through the door of the loft before Gil is crowding Malcolm up against the wall, shoving him until his back hits the brick with a muted thud, his wool overcoat absorbing the brunt of the impact.It still forces the air from his lungs.There's a fire in Gil's eyes that belies the stoic mask he wears and has Malcolm's heart stuttering in his chest. It's a primal response, adrenaline pumping as his body reacts to a perceived threat, even when his mind knows that Gil would never hurt him. His skin, his blood, his bones — they all begin to tingle with awareness, leaving him hyper-sensitive to his surroundings, a precursor to the fight or flight instinct that slams into his body so hard it makes him jerk under Gil's grasp where the man is holding tight to the lapels of his jacket.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	What he needs to hear

**Author's Note:**

> I've tagged this as non-con just to be safe (I wouldn't want to accidentally trigger someone), but Malcolm does actually want this.

They barely make it through the door of the loft before Gil is crowding Malcolm up against the wall, shoving him until his back hits the brick with a muted thud, his wool overcoat absorbing the brunt of the impact. 

It still forces the air from his lungs.

There's a fire in Gil's eyes that belies the stoic mask he wears and has Malcolm's heart stuttering in his chest. It's a primal response, adrenaline pumping as his body reacts to a perceived threat, even when his mind knows that Gil would never hurt him. His skin, his blood, his bones — they all begin to tingle with awareness, leaving him hyper-sensitive to his surroundings, a precursor to the fight or flight instinct that slams into his body so hard it makes him jerk under Gil's grasp where the man is holding tight to the lapels of his jacket.

He tilts his head up, eyes wide and searching, only to be met with pupils blown so wide there's almost none of the warm brown that he's become so accustomed to seeing over the years — a warmth he'd long ago come to associate with home and love and acceptance. All of that is gone now, consumed by an inky darkness that's sucking him in like a black hole and he's helpless to fight its pull.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm tries, but the words catch in his throat, coming out as little more than a halted whisper. A plea, an apology, an offering — he's honestly not sure, but it's rejected regardless.

"Don't," Gil growls through teeth clenched so hard that Malcolm can see the play of the man's muscles contracting and releasing beneath his skin. "Unless it's to scream my name, I don't want to hear another sound."

Malcolm opens his mouth to protest, the need to apologize and explain swelling inside of him, overriding the voice of self-preservation that's screaming at him to shut the fuck up and do as he's told.

"Give me a reason, kid. I _will_ gag you," Gil threatens, yanking Malcolm forward just a few inches before slamming him back against the wall.

It's not even a conscious choice when Malcolm's mouth snaps shut.

Though he's resigned himself to staying silent, he can't help the small squeak that escapes as Gil wrenches him forward and spins him to the side, but Gil either doesn't notice or doesn't care, his single-minded focus on getting Malcolm to the bedroom, allowing the slip-up to go unpunished. For now, at least.

When Malcolm's heels hit the step to the platform of his sleeping area, Gil doesn't even give him time to lift his feet up and over. Instead, he leans over to push his shoulder into Bright's stomach and then stands up abruptly, tossing Malcolm over his shoulder with an ease that shocks Malcolm almost as much as it arouses him, carrying him the last few steps to the bed and tossing him down with no apparent care for his comfort. His coat twists in a tangle beneath his body, leaving his left arm effectively pinned to his side, but when he tries to adjust, Gil shoots him a withering glare and Malcolm ceases his attempt to free himself from his makeshift restraint.

Gil goes right for his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper with such force that Malcolm's sure he'll need to make a trip to the tailor come morning. In one rough jerk, Malcolm's pants and boxers are bunched around his knees, his rapidly hardening cock slapping against his stomach from the abrupt movement.

He's left on his own for only a moment as Gil stalks over to the table and grabs the lube from the drawer, tossing it on the bed before turning his attention back to Malcolm with a laserlike intensity that has him squirming, despite his best intentions to stay still.

Malcolm can't even hear his own thoughts over the roaring in his ears as Gil's fingers wrap tight around his ankles and wrench him down to the edge of the bed. He hauls Malcolm's legs straight up to rest on his shoulder while he perches a knee on the mattress below Malcolm's ass.

Once Malcolm's legs are settled where he obviously wants them, Gil reaches for the lube and quickly slicks up three of his fingers. Malcolm is expecting the finger at his entrance as Gil drops his hand to his ass, what he doesn't expect is for Gil to push in right away, his index finger breaching the tight muscle with none of the care he usually takes to massage his hole and loosen him up.

Malcolm's jaw drops on a gasp, squeezing his eyes shut tight as the burn lands on the wrong side of pleasure-pain but Gil keeps pushing until he's knuckle deep inside, then drags out slowly only to thrust back in when his finger is halfway out. Malcolm sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, holding the air in his chest as Gil starts to fuck into him hard and fast. He finally breathes out when his muscles start to unclench, only to have Gil add a second finger and start the process all over again. He forces himself to breathe through it this time, knowing he'll adjust more quickly if he manages some deep and steady breaths, but the best he can accomplish is a set of short gasping pants.

Gil seems to be working to stretch him as efficiently as possible, scissoring his fingers with every pump of his hand. It feels like only seconds until he adds a third finger and Malcolm howls, his body jerking away. It's too much, too soon, but Gil just wraps a strong arm around Malcolm's thighs to hold him in place as he twists his hand to find Malcolm's prostate and starts kneading it relentlessly.

Bright keens as the pain abruptly shifts into something different but equally as intense. It shoots through his body like an electric current and he only realizes he's trying to scramble backwards again — this time to escape the onslaught of pleasure that's too acute to actually be pleasurable — when Gil squeezes his legs even tighter and orders, "Bright. Stay still." 

He tries his damndest to stop pulling away, but can do nothing to stop the tremble that's shaking his body from head to toe. He grasps the comforter below him, twisting and bunching the fabric in his fists as he writhes against the bed, his mouth remaining open in a silent scream when he runs out of enough air to continue wailing.

"Is this what you wanted, kid?" Gil asks with enough jealousy in his voice that it cuts through the haze of Malcolm's mind. He wants to tell Gil no, that he said what he said, and did what he did, solely to catch their killer, but they would both know that was a lie. And so he just shakes his head as tears begin to form in his eyes, escaping from the edges and trailing down into his hair as Gil keeps a firm and constant pressure on the bundle of nerves inside of him. "Does this feed your inner 'pain-slut', Bright?"

He's all but forgotten about the burn of Gil stretching him so intently as his entire body zeros in on the unceasing rhythmic massage of the most sensitive part of his body. Once again it's toeing the line between pain and pleasure but tilting far more towards the former. 

Malcolm cries out wordlessly to keep himself from answering that yes, it's exactly what his inner pain-slut wants. That he wants this and so much more.

Gil doesn't let up, not even for a second. He _does_ deviate from his direct assault, switching things up by alternating soft strokes with pulsing taps and slow circles, but there's never a point where he's not stimulating Malcolm's prostate. The pressure is still excessive, bordering on painful, but his cock is starting to twitch and he knows that his body is close to orgasm, even if he keeps unintentionally trying to buck away from Gil.

His back arches off the bed as Gil's touch jolts out from deep inside of him all the way to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet, lighting up every nerve ending in between. It's hitting him so hard that he can't manage to suck in a full breath and soon finds himself getting lightheaded as the amount of oxygen entering his blood stream decreases in direct opposition to the arousal flooding his system. 

He's close, though, and he reaches a hand towards his cock, knowing that just a few strokes will send him over the edge, only to have his hand roughly batted away by Gil. 

"You don't get to touch," Gil growls and presses in harder. Malcolm nearly blacks out when Gil moves his fingers to cover the bundle of nerves and begins to vibrate his hand faster than Malcolm would have thought possible.

It's not an orgasm. Or at least, it doesn't feel like any orgasm he's ever had. He shoots a load all over the front of his shirt and waistcoat, but there's little of the pleasure and none of the release that typically accompanies his orgasms. It's… uncomfortable. He feels somehow detached and overwhelmed at the same time and nearly sobs in relief when his cock finally stops spilling over his clothes.

Except that Gil doesn't stop his attack.

'Oversensitive' seems like an immense understatement. Malcolm's fairly certain that if Gil keeps going, his heart may actually give out.

"Gil, please," he gasps, as he tries to pull himself backwards, away from the overstimulation that's making his world go fuzzy around the edges. Gil's vice-like grip around his thighs keeps him from going anywhere, while the tangle of his coat keeps him from getting much leverage with his scrambling hands.

"Please what, kid?" Gil taunts while dropping his pace to a light massage that _should_ feel good but currently makes him queasy, "Is this what you were looking for when you asked _him_ to hurt you?" 

Undercover or not, Malcolm knows he let things get too far, too personal, with their suspect. And he _knew_ that Gil was on the other end of the wire-tap, listening to every word. If he's honest with himself, that was part of the appeal, and he knows he owes Gil an apology for that, but right now, the only thing he can manage to spit out is a mewling plea as the tears continue to run steadily down the sides of his face.

Lost in hypersensitivity, Malcolm doesn't realize he's reaching out for Gil until the man orders, "Hands under your back, city boy. Your need to learn that your body is mine."

Through the mental fog that's clouding his mind, Malcolm has a hazy realization that he only has two options (well, three, really, but he'll be damned if he safewords out when Gil is finally starting to push his limits). 

He can fight — struggle to get away, lash out, make Gil fight for the control he's demanding.

Or he can submit.

His hands slip beneath his lower back before he even finishes the thought. He's still fisting the sheets beneath him but the tenderness inside, where Gil is concentrating all of his attention, seems to fade ever so slightly just from the act of making the decision.

Malcolm forces himself to go lax, turning his body, his entire being, over to Gil to do with as he will.

Gil's pace falters as Malcolm's writhing body goes suddenly limp in his arms, but soon he's doubling down, working Malcolm at a frenetic pace that forces Malcolm to fully surrender in order to make it through.

He can feel himself slipping into a headspace where Gil's ministrations no longer feel like something he's forced to endure, but something that he's doing _for_ Gil. Giving himself over to the man in a way that he's been dreaming about since he was 22 and first realized that, somewhere along the line, what he felt for Gil had transformed from familial to sexual. 

That was around the same time he started going to clubs that catered to the type of urges and deep-seated needs he was too embarrassed to own up to. He turned himself over to faceless strangers that he would never see again, hoping that one of them might fill the void growing steadily inside of him, day by day. None of them ever did.

But now. 

Now, Gil is forcing him to bend to his will and it already feels different than all those other times. He feels… complete, somehow. Like that indescribable _something_ that he's been seeking all these years is just within reach. Like Gil has the power to bestow it, so long as Malcolm is good for him.

The thought of being good for Gil, of pleasing him, makes Malcolm moan, forgetting for a moment the sharp twinge that's lashing inside of him. 

Gil obviously senses the change in Malcolm. He keeps his pace, but the angry edge to his words is gone as he murmurs, "Good boy."

Combined with the prostate massage, it's just enough praise to tip Malcolm over the edge again, a much smaller amount of come shooting over his waistcoat, his cock left twitching and leaking against his stomach. He doesn't realize he's screaming until Gil leans forward to shove his fingers in Malcolm's mouth and the wailing noise that was filling his ears finally stops.

Much to Malcolm's surprise and relief, so does the pressure on his prostate.

He collapses into a boneless heap, gasping for air now that his lungs seem to be working again. The sudden calm after Gil's unexpected assault on his prostate leaves him feeling weightless and tingling and floating somewhere just outside of himself. He's distantly aware of his body and surroundings, but only in an obscure and undefined way that's remarkably pleasant. The sounds in the room — Gil's voice, the traffic from outside, the low hum of the refrigerator — are slowly filtering through, but they're muffled in a way that makes them hard to comprehend. 

He doesn't feel Gil pull his fingers out — of his ass or his mouth — so he's startled by the needy whine that issues from his throat when he realizes just how empty he suddenly feels. He's even more surprised when the desperate keening turns into identifiable words, falling from his lips in a continuous plea of, "Please, Gil. Please, please, please." He doesn't know exactly what he's begging for, but he knows that Gil can make things better if he gets back inside of him. 

Barely audible over his desperate pleading is the rustle of fabric, a zipper, the snap of the lube cap. He hears it, but assigns it no value until the head of Gil's cock is nudging up against his hole, teasing his sensitive rim for just a moment. Malcolm's entreaties turn into a low sigh as Gil pushes in — one forceful thrust that sees Gil fully seated in Malcolm's tight heat, the stretch of his cock burning through Malcolm's already wrung-out body and forcing the air from his lungs again, leaving him aching and crying once more.

It's perfect.

He remains docile and pliant under Gil as he starts to move, hitching up Malcolm's legs a little higher on his shoulder and thrusting hard right from the start. With Malcolm's thighs pinned together by his pants, his channel is especially tight and Gil groans at the squeeze around his cock, as Malcolm's pain becomes Gil's pleasure. A lazy smile spreads over Malcolm's face at the sound, knowing that Gil is pleased.

With every pump of his hips, Malcolm feels the cool press from the zipper of Gil's trousers rubbing up against his skin, a strange counterbalance to the burning ache inside of him. He slowly blinks his eyes open and looks down the length of his body to where Gil is pistoning into him with a vigour that's impressive even in Malcolm's hazy state.

 _Gil is beautiful like this_ , Malcolm fleetingly thinks, until Gil shifts and his cock slams up against Malcolm's abused prostate.

Then his world goes white and his thoughts vanish altogether.

When Malcolm comes back to himself, Gil is jack-hammering into him, sweat glistening on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. Malcolm's not sure how long he was zoned out, but his hole feels well-used and more than a little sore, so he assumes Gil's been at it for a while. The idea of Gil using his body like that, when Malcolm is spaced out and has no control or autonomy, has Malcolm moaning like a whore and shifting his hips so Gil can pound in even harder.

"You like that, kid?" Gil says, sounding excessively smug. "Am I hurting you just the way you wanted _him_ to?" Gil punctuates the word with a violent thrust that makes Malcolm whimper and arch his back.

"Yes," Malcolm keens trying to squeeze around Gil's cock to make it even better for the man, and is rewarded with a low groan that tells him that he's done well. But the watery smile that he offers Gil is met with the closest thing to a sneer that Malcolm's ever seen on Gil's face, and suddenly he's not so sure that he's pleased him at all.

"If you're smiling at me, I'm clearly not working you hard enough," Gil says, keeping his eyes locked on Malcolm's as he reaches around to fist Malcolm's cock with a firm grip. It's the first time his cock has been touched since this whole thing began, but he's already come three times and his dick feels sore and overworked as soon as Gil wraps his hand around it.

Gil works his hand in counterpoint to his thrusts and Malcolm shouts at the unexpected dual sensations. He's relatively sure that he's not going to be able to orgasm again, but he's 100% certain that Gil isn't going to stop until he does. And maybe not even then. The realization that Gil could keep him like this all night triggers a fresh wave a tears and starts a hitching in his chest that's hard to breath around.

"That's better," Gil huffs, shifting his knees a little farther under Malcolm's ass so that he's got Malcolm practically in his lap as he switches to shallow but aggressive strokes. Malcolm isn't sure if the new position is better or worse, but his tears don't stop and he's clawing at the blankets under his hands, as if he can dig his way through the bed and away from the current proceedings. 

He's so lost in the sensations of his body that it takes him by surprise when Gil gives one last thrust and Malcolm feels Gil's release flooding into him, warm and throbbing and proof positive that Malcolm's body has provided Gil pleasure.

That knowledge is the nudge Malcolm needs as a final, suffocating orgasm rips through him. 

Gil drops one hand down to the bed, leaning against Malcolm's legs a little as they both catch their breath in heaving gasps, utterly exhausted. Malcolm's floating on a haze of endorphins and feels absolutely glorious, hardly even noticing as Gil pulls out and backs away, lowering Malcolm's legs and maneuvering his body so that he's laying properly on the bed. He feels Gil wiping at his soiled clothes before moving to unbutton everything, but he doesn't have the presence of mind to help as Gil turns him this way and that, gently removing layer after layer of clothing from Malcolm's limp form.

He's shaking, just a little, more like a shiver really, except he's not cold, but then suddenly Gil is beside him, naked and soft and pulling him into his body, wrapping protective arms around him, and the shaking begins to cease.

Maybe he _was_ cold.

Maybe he just needed Gil.

It doesn't really matter, though, because Gil is holding him close and murmuring soft words into his ear that Malcolm can't make heads or tails of, but it's soothing and Malcolm curls into his warmth and lets Gil take care of him in a way that he's distantly aware they both need.

He slowly comes back to himself with every tender caress over his back, Gil's fingers running absently along his spine. The low hum of Gil's voice eventually forms into words and Malcolm smiles shyly against Gil's chest as Gil praises him and tells him how good he was.

"..so beautiful when you give yourself over to me like that. I love you so much, kid, and you did so well just now, doing everything I asked." Gil's voice rumbles through his chest and Malcolm can feel it in his bones where he's tucked up against Gil. He lets the words flow over him and nestle around him like a blanket, lets himself drift in and out for what feels like hours as Gil speaks in soothing tones and loving words.

"You're so perfect for me, Bright. And I'm sorry for pushing you so far." The change in Gil's tone is so subtle that Malcolm barely notices at first. But then he hears the catch in Gil's voice, and draws his eyebrows together in confusion. _That's not right_ , Malcolm thinks to himself. Gil's supposed to be feeling as blissed out and perfect as Malcolm does, and he can't quite wrap his head around the hitch in Gil's breathing or the words that follow, still hardly more than a whisper.

"Fuck, kid, I'm so sorry. I never should have taken you like that when I was angry." There's a thickness to Gil's voice that Malcolm recognizes from the very few times he's ever heard him cry and suddenly Malcolm is completely clearheaded as Gil breathes. "Jesus, what did I do?"

Malcolm pulls back, craning his neck up to look at Gil and finding his face contorted in an anguish that absolutely shatters his heart. 

"Gil?" Malcolm whispers, watching the tears fall steadily from eyes that are usually so warm and filled with mirth.

Gil looks down at Malcolm, eyes glistening and red, and Malcolm doesn't need to be a profiler to recognize the shame that's threatening to destroy him.

"I'm so fucking sorry, kid," Gil sobs and starts to roll away, stopped only by Malcolm's sudden and vice-like grip around his middle. Gil looks at Malcolm in shock, disbelief replacing shame for a fraction of a second. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't blame yourself for doing something that both of us wanted," Malcolm says firmly.

Gil scoffs, disgust tingeing his words as he spits, "What we both wanted? I practically raped you, Malcolm."

Malcolm sighs almost inaudibly and pulls Gil closer. He knows he'll have to tread carefully; there's a very real possibility that it could spell the end of their relationship if he says the wrong thing. 

"Gil. Look at me, please," Malcolm says, scooting up in the bed so he's eye to eye with the man, even though Gil is adamantly refusing to look anywhere even near him. "Gil."

Malcolm cups his face and he can feel the tension in Gil's jaw as he clenches his teeth and forces himself not to pull away from Malcolm's touch. It's a bit of a waiting game, but it pays off when Gil finally, reluctantly, makes eye contact.

"Gil, you didn't do anything, not a single thing, that I haven't asked you — begged you — to do to me. You gave me everything I've been wanting. You have nothing to feel sorry for. If anything, I should be thanking you."

It's probably not the right thing to say, but it's the truth. Gil's been reluctant to get as rough as Malcolm would like, and even though they've had numerous conversations — about what they both want, limits and boundaries, safewords, and a thousand other precautions — Gil's been too worried about Malcolm's safety to let go and truly explore this new dynamic. But everything that happened from the minute they walked through the door was high on Malcolm's list of kinks he wanted to explore.

"I know you were angry, and that's probably not the best time to delve into something like this, but I'm glad we did," Malcolm says quietly, thumb tracing along Gil's cheekbone, trying to convey with the simple touch that nothing has changed between the two of them. Malcolm can see that Gil is still unconvinced, and keeps trying to reach him. "Gil, I know that you didn't really want to hurt me. Even if you can't admit it to yourself right now, I saw the way you were checking in with me, reading my body's cues. As angry as you were, you paused and gave me the opportunity to safeword a few times, and I _know_ that you would have stopped if I'd used it. You know that, too."

Malcolm understands that it's going to take Gil some time to move past this whole encounter, but he's confident that they can get to the point where Gil is willing to try again — when they're both a little more level-headed and not drowning in negative emotions.

He watches as Gil thinks back on their encounter, trying to determine if Malcolm is right or not, if he was more in control of himself than he thought. Malcolm takes the time while he waits to lean in and press small, chaste kisses along Gil's jawline, hoping the action will help to relax the tense muscles there.

It takes longer than Malcolm was expecting, but Gil hesitantly wraps his arms around him, holding him like he's made of spun glass as he whispers, "We're never doing that again."

Malcolm's fairly certain he can change Gil's mind eventually, but for now, he pulls Gil closer and tells him exactly what he needs to hear, "Okay. That's fine. Never again."


End file.
